cut out all the ropes and let me fall
by souvenirs
Summary: i told you to be patient, i told you to be kind. JONAS nick//macy


blood bank by bon iver

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_january_

It's been a while. He can't remember exactly how long but by the colour of her hair, back to the chocolate brown he can recall her sporting when she first hit him with a baseball bat, and the way she seems to have sprouted an inch or two, so she finally reaches past his chin, it's been a few years. She looks almost identical, sitting there with a look of concentration spread across her features, her tongue sticking out from between her pink lips. She scribbles out something on the paper in front of her and he wonders if her writing is still the neat block print that made his written out lyrics look like chicken scratch. The smell is heavy with the scent of coffee and vanilla and something a little too familiar he has to take a step back before he breaks down into a messy pile of himself. He composes himself for a second, and decides to indulge himself for once. Worst comes to worst he'll have some new material for that album that he's promised his record label he'll have by June. "Macy." He breaths out, intending it out to come out as an exclamation, like he was surprised to see her here and that he totally hadn't been staring at her for the past five minutes, his fingertips burnt and raw from the hot cup of coffee in his hand. She turns and looks up at him, her lips separating and curving up to form a smile. He forgets how heart stopping it is. She asks him to sit and he does without a word. Not trusting his throat to release the right sounds to form a word, let alone a sentence. He's missed her. He really has.

_february_

He waits for her in Central Park, watching the mothers push their strollers with their precious cargo forward. It reminds him of when his little brother was born and he would demand to push his stroller along the pavement, his brothers running ahead of him. The stroller was far too tall for him and he had to stretch his little arms to reach the handles but he liked knowing that he was in charge, that he was directing something so helpless as a baby along. He was so used to being the leader, being in control that she was like a completely different being to him. She didn't just let him be, she pushed him back, she was loud, free spirited, optimistic. It felt like his whole life he was just running laps, and she pushed him off the track and onto the grass. Of course only when thinking of her would he ever use a sports analogy. He feels her slide onto the bench next to him. She breaths out heavy, causing a cloud of moisture to form in the frosty air. It doesn't matter who opens their mouths to speak first. It comes naturally. She tells him about NYU and her professors, he tells her about tours and albums. When the snow begins to fall she offers a hot pot of coffee and cold Chinese takeout. He says yes because he misses her. More than he would allow himself to think he did.

_march_

She mumbles an excuse over the phone, her words crashing into one another and the sound of them colliding rings hollow in his ears. He can almost imagine her biting her lip on the other end, a little tell of when she was lying. He wants to call her out on it, wants to prove that he still knows her better than anyone else but instead he too mumbles a reply. His words jumbled and maybe a little harsh but she accepts them without a second thought, makes a sound from the back of her throat and hangs up. And that's that. It's completely by accident that he walks right into her, and she falls into his arms. He thinks that maybe his life should be a tv show, that's why this all works out for him. She fits easily into him, and they almost relax into each other, just like old times before she pulls back. She never was the one to pull back, she always trudged forward. But she takes a few steps back and waits for him to speak. He can almost see her mentally preparing herself for her answer. When neither of them speak she reaches out for his hand and laces her gloved hands through his and leads him. "Come on." She speaks softly, her voice quiet and reserved. Each syllable light as if just the thought of pronouncing them drained her. She stops suddenly and pauses, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn't, this is her story to tell. "Heart attack, a few months after you left." She tells him, reaching out to trace over the smooth marble, hand still in his. She drops her arm to her side, and it happens so fluidly, like it's part of a waltz or something but her head fits under his chin so perfectly, and his arms encircle like it's the most natural thing in the world, and the whole thing just happens like a involuntarily movement like breathing. They stand there like that for a while. Just breathing in one another. "I'm sorry." He mumbles into her hair. She nods and takes a deep breath. She just hopes he really means it.

_april_

April showers brings May flowers. It's a storm, one that knocks out the power in his building. She laughs, and he can see her silhouette in the light of the New York skyline through his window. She tilts her head back and laughs her twinkling, perfect, musical little laugh. One that always threw him off because she has the most horrendous singing voice but her laugh? God, he could a million songs about that laugh and it still would never compare. It reminds him of this girl he met at one of the many parties his record label made him go to, ignoring the fact that he was the most socially awkward rock star there ever was. Her laugh was so thick and throaty, and he didn't know why but suddenly that tiny girl with the horrible highlights he fell in love with at seventeen came to mind. He lets out a string of curse words as he stubs his toe on a coffee table trying to find a candle. She laughs again, and he wants to fill up on that laugh. Bottle it up and keep it all for himself. He hears the hiss of a lighter and suddenly the room is filled with a warm glow. She's standing right in front of him, and the candle light illuminates the flecks of colour in her eyes. She's standing so close he's sure that they're sharing the same breath. Inhaling and exhaling each other. There's what some call, a moment. They just stand there for a while and then a crash on thunder makes her jump back, dropping the candle. Now it's her turn to release rather unsophisticated vocabulary into the air. "You always made me clumsy Lucas." She tells him with a hint of amusement in her voice. When the lights come back on she sits on his kitchen counter with a pack of frozen peas to her foot and he thinks, she's really wonderful.

_may_

Spring is in the air, even if it is so cliché to say. But she feels it when she wakes up one morning and the radio so cheerfully tells her that it's so and so degrees outside, better break out the shorts. Instead she pulls out her best sundress, and prettiest sandals and tells him to meet her for lunch because it's a good day. She's always loved spring, because it meant summer was close. Summer was the time she spent with her father, the time when she start running again and the time when she fell in love. The New York heat is far different than the LA one, but it still made her think of those utterly cheesy nights spent walking on the beach, tiptoeing into the cool water and laughing as the waves lapped at her feet. She skips class because it's a too beautiful day to waste inside listening to some old man drone on about a book that she knew wasn't half as great as the potential of the day. She sits on the patio of her favourite restaurant and sees him walk up the sidewalk, break into a jog when he sees her. She stands up to greet him and it happens so suddenly, maybe it was because she tilted her head ever so slightly, or maybe it was just the new found heat that was making ever one so lightheaded but his lips land against hers for a split second. She's not sure if he meant it or not but she doesn't question it nor does he as they sit down and talk about what the day has in store for them. When they leave she doesn't think twice when he grabs her hand and holds it while he walks her home.

_june_

His album is due. His album is due. He spends the weeks before his meeting with the record execs scribbling down lyrics on anything. Locked up in his apartment, phone turned off, not even talking to his brothers because holy shit this is cutting it close and he has never ever cut it close. He's always been prepared in advance, neat and organized, everything in order. But then she happens and she's chaos and a storm and completely enchanting that he forgets everything and for once just lives. He isn't spending each important moment trying to think of lyrics to reflect it, or humming a melody when they're trying to watch a movie on the couch trying to compose something. Instead he's actually alive and being a part of everything. Not waiting for an opportune moment for song inspiration to come up. He's participating, not retreating to keep everything locked up to use as new material. But instead of feeling free and happy he feels annoyed and angry. She distracted him, she took away his creativity. She took him away from what's important. He ignores her phone calls and eventually she stops calling. She can take a hint, and when he meets with his producer and the record label they see the tension written on his face. When his brothers fly out to see him, they see the stress itched into his features. Kevin who's insight has almost always been limited to some type of woodland creature playing an instrument provides a little advice. "It's bigger than you or her." When he questions what exactly his big brother is referencing in all his yoda wisdom, he ignores his sarcasm and biting remarks and answers simply. "Love."

_july_

He wonders if she forgives and forgets, just one or neither. He calls and apologizes profusely, making up an excuse that he's fairly certain she can see through. However things return to relatively normal. Classes are out for break and they spend most days in her small little apartment, so much that he even has his own dresser drawer. He doesn't think much of it, and although it is true that he spends most nights asleep next to her on her bed or couch after she falls asleep it doesn't seem scary or too fast or whatever it could be. It's nice really. Like when they're sitting on her balcony, her legs dangling off the edge of the concrete ledge, stuck in between the bars holding up the railing. She swings her feet to a melody he hums to her, wiggling her multicolour toes because she can never decide on one nail polish colour. She licks her cherry popsicle, telling him it was far too hot to eat anything else for breakfast. He stops humming watching her for a moment. The way the loose hairs that fall out from her ponytail stick to the sweat of her neck. The way her caramel coloured skin almost glows from the sunlight. She licks the dripping juice from her wrist and looks up at him. She gives him a questioning glance as she sucks the popsicle sticks dry. He shakes his head as she returns to looking out to New York City landscape and he realizes that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And it scares him to death.

_august_

She sits in front of the kitchen table, a line of little pills lined up like candy. Which to choose, which to choose she wonders, as if she has a choice. She hears a noise and a low grumble and winces as she sees him enter the room. He sees the pills, there's no point in lying now. His eyes widen with fear and uncertainty and she's terrified but when he asks in his best calm but totally freaking out inside voice, "What is this?" She tells him, because honesty is the best policy and really it's okay. She tells him that things were different for her when he left and her dad died and life got a little crazy. "And so did I." She laughs a little because this, this is way too much and she needs to feel a little less serious because he was always good at that, not her. He sits there for a while, closes his eyes as if it all pains him too much, nods once and gets up. She swallows her pills like a good little girl and goes back to bed. She knows it's going to be okay when she crawls into bed and he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her close. It doesn't take too long for her to drift off to sleep.

_september_

It's different this time. They're not teenagers. There's no fumbling hands and asking every two seconds if this is okay. There's no nervous giggles or intense concentration to get this right. There's no sound of the ocean in the background like some kind of cheesy movie about a summer fling. There's no roses or candles or slightly tacky hotel bedding. He thinks that first times never really compare to what age and experience bring. Like a bottle of wine, Joe used to tell him, only gets better with age. And even though there is never a discussion of what they are, or what they are to each other, it doesn't matter. They don't need words. He thinks that maybe when they were seventeen and first fell in love they gave each parts of their hearts that they would never get back. And as he lies there, staring up at the glow in the dark stars that she has up on her ceiling because New York has too much smog for her to look at the sky, he thinks that he's okay with that. He's okay with a part of him always belonging to her.

_october_

She knows he doesn't do Halloween parties. She knows that he doesn't do parties in general really. But she loves Halloween, the ability to be someone you totally aren't. She remembers when she and Stella were kids they would dress up as each other. She would sport a blond wig and some pretty little dress that was colour coordinated to her shoes. But it's been a while since those days and she manages to get him to come with her only if she goes as Wonderwoman. She makes a huge deal about it but when she finally gets the costume and puts it on, she looks hot. Are they casting for a new Wonderwoman flick cause she can totally do the stunts herself. So there she is, in her friend from her 20th Century Literature Class apartment, standing next to him who decided to go as James Bond because he said it would be the least embarrassing. But when people ask her who he is supposed to be she tells them Maxwell Smart because it's funnier. And she's convinced he's a dead ringer for him. She's standing next to this guy dressed as a surgeon, and she's laughing at this joke he told her, and maybe she rests his hand on his arm or something and suddenly he's marching up to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the apartment. He makes out to the elevator before he speaks. "So you brought me here to flirt with other guys?" He demands of her, clearly angry evident by the fact that he's waving his arms around when he speaks which he never does because he claims it to be distracting people from what you're saying. She takes a step back, preparing a harsh response because she will not let him win. "First off, I wasn't flirting. Second off, who are you to say that I can't flirt with anyone I want." She knows the second point isn't really valid but whatever, it'll work. He makes a sound that's a cross between an sigh and a growl. "Sure seemed like it." Their voices echo in the empty hallway, the sound barely being muffled by the dull thumping of some song back at the party. "I can flirt with whoever I want okay Mister." She yells at him, jamming a finger into his chest to prove her point. "No. No you can't." He tells her, voice not as loud but just as angry. "And why not?" She knows that they're never really discussed what this is, or what it means and maybe just maybe she wants to hear it. She wants him to tell her what she means to him. "Because I love you!" He yells at her, running a hand through his hair. "That's why." His voice quiets and she crossed the space between them and presses her lips firmly against his. "Thank you." She mumbles to him in between kisses. "And I love you too."

_november_

The days shorten and but the time they spend away from each other get longer. Although he's moved out of the always empty apartment and into her already cluttered one, they see each other in passing. Like two ghosts moving through the same hallway. She rushes to class, he rushes to the studio. He promises her it'll be different when the album finally gets out, he tells the record label he needs a break. He ends to start living a life, not living to work. She promises him it'll be different when her break comes and she can be home with him again. Where they can sit on the couch and argue over what movie to watch, she loves classic black and whites, he prefers something with action. Or where she can try to bake something in her attempt to prove that he isn't the only one with culinary talents around heer but sets something on fire instead. He realizes how much of a couple they've become. He's not sure if it's scary, he's always been his own person. Or whether it's a relief, they have each other now and he's not ever gonna let her go like he did before. Sometimes he thinks about the future, actually he thinks about it a lot. It's gotten to the point where it's hard to picture it without her. He imagines buying a house back home, with a big backyard and a tire swing in the yard. He pictures a little family, with his curly locks and her beautiful eyes and then he realizes what a total sap he is. He asks Joe is that's how he felt when he knew he wanted to be with Stella. Joe embellishes a little, adding a little Joe-esque comment here and there but he tells him that sometimes it's okay to be a little cheesy. Then he reminds him that he is the brother who chooses to woo girls by serenading them. How cheesy does that get? He laughs and thanks him and he knows that it is scary. But it's also the best possible thing to happen to him.

_december_

They spend Christmas with her mother. She's ecstatic, it's been awhile since she's been home and it's nice to spend her nights in her childhood beds. He asks her on the ride home if she still has her JONAS posters up. She gives him a sly grin and a wink. When they get there her mother rushes out and greets them both with hugs and kisses. "So this is the boy huh?" She asks her as he carries the bags into the house. She shrugs, trying to hide the grin that is threatening to break out on her face. "Who knew that boy who used to cover your walls would be the one." Her mother laughs, and she groans. "Mom." The next day they go to visit his family and she's overwhelmed by the amount of people. His arm is around her the entire time, as if keeping her stable and can't help but lean into him sometimes. They stay for dinner and then she sits on the couch with Stella and the new baby. She can't help but smile at the glow that Stella almost radiates and is taken aback when she tells her to hold the baby. She's so tiny and fragile that she takes her time, adjusting her arms so she can hold her just right. "She's perfect." She whispers and looks up to see him grinning at her. She shakes her head, smiling down at the baby. They return to her mother and spend Christmas with her. After the presents are opened and the leftovers put away she lies in bed, in her old room watching the snow fall outside her window. He lies down beside her, brushing her hair from her neck. "I love you." He presses a kiss to her collarbone. She closes her eyes slowly and smiles. "I love you too."

-

so please forgive that momentual fail at the end. endings have never been my strong suit. this came out at a very weird time in my life. i have never been able to write an entire story in a story but i'm having a hypomanic episode or something. thought i might at least pump something out.

dorothy.


End file.
